


what is remembered forever.

by alkjira



Series: Evergreen [9]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (always), Bard's POV, Established Relationship, M/M, Smitten Bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Could you please tell your uncle that it's not my fault that Bilbo enjoys Lindir's and Elrond's company." Bard looked pleadingly between the two brothers. "I didn't ask Elrond to come here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	what is remembered forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a poem by Rabindranath Tagore called Unending Love

"He's made a throne."  
  
"Please tell me that you're joking," Bard said, covering his eyes with one hand. "Please?"  
  
"Don't worry, it's heavy enough that he's not sure how to transport it"  
  
Bard’s shoulders had begun to relax at the beginning of the sentence, but as Fíli finished it they stiffened again.  
  
"But he's working on it," Kíli helpfully filled in, all earnest brown eyes, and Bard let out a small whimper.   
  
"He used too much gold," Fíli said, shaking his head. "It looks wonderful, mind, but not even Dori and Dwalin together could budge it."  
  
"Could you  _please_  tell your uncle that it's not my fault that Bilbo enjoys Lindir's and Elrond's company." Bard looked pleadingly between the two brothers. "I didn't ask Elrond to come here, and I bloody well don't want a throne."  
  
The corner of Fíli’s mouth twitched upwards. "Should we ask that he send Lindir gifts instead?"  
  
Bard had not intended to cast any blame on Lindir, and when he imagined what Lindir's response to being sent jewels and gold would be he couldn’t quite hold back the ghost of a sigh.

"Please don't. He'd feel like he has to make use of whatever Thorin sent, as it would be a gift, but I don't think he'd be comfortable with anything too valuable."  
  
It wasn't like Bard was blind to the allure of Lindir in something shiny, no he could indeed see the appeal, but he could not imagine that Lindir would happily don a diamond necklace or whatever Thorin would see fit to send.   
  
Things had to at least pretend to be useful for Lindir to find favour with them. 

He liked soft fabrics well enough; whenever he wore a particular tunic he always ran his hands down the length of it before he put it on, as good as petting it. And even if Lindir argued that good quality just meant that the item of clothing would last longer it still didn't explain his reaction to that one silk shirt that Bard had received as a gift from Dáin.

The echo of a pleasant burn filled Bard's stomach as he remembered exactly what Lindir's appreciation for that shirt had led to. 

But gold and gems... that just wasn't- those weren’t _practical_.

Unless-  
  
"Unless-"  
  
"Unless?" Kíli asked, his eyes had now gone wide and curious and Bard was very much reminded of his youngest daughter.  
  
"Unless he can actually make use of it.” Bard nodded slowly. “Lindir enjoys gardening."  
  
Fíli and Kíli both blinked up at him, looking entirely too young to be close to twice that of Bard's own age.

"We... know?" Fíli said. "He talks about it with Bilbo."

"A  _lot_ ," Kíli filled in. "Unless Bilbo has started in on cooking."

"Or writing," Fíli added and Kíli nodded. 

"Or suggestions of how Lindir should let himself be adopted already." Kíli winked up at Bard. "I bet that either of those things is what they're talking about now. Maybe Bilbo is trying to adopt Tauriel too. Or Lord Elrond"

Bard snorted. "I don't think that's going to work. Not in the least because Thorin would not permit it, and he is king as I'm sure you know."

"He might ask anyway," Kíli said. "Just so Dwalin will tell uncle that he asked. Bilbo wasn't really… _enthusiastic_ about needing an escort just to come here. And he's of the opinion that if he has to suffer uncle being stubborn someone else will suffer with him.” Kíli winked. “Luckily for us that usually ends up being Thorin.”

"This has nothing to do with gardening though," Fíli said, heroically attempting to steer the conversation back on track. "What did you mean?"  
  
"I thought- your uncle is a very skilled craftsman."  
  
Both lads preened as if it had been their own skills that had been complimented.   
  
"And if he'd feel like making something for Lindir, perhaps he could make a set of gardening tools?" Even if they had jewels on them Lindir would probably still be able to use them. The chance was at least higher than if it was a bracelet as bracelets were notoriously useless to dig with.

"He made some for Bilbo," Kíli said thoughtfully, and Bard tried to figure out if that would make Thorin more or less inclined to make some for Lindir.  
  
"I'll suggest it," Fíli offered, grinning up at him. "But a favour for a favour, yes?"

"And what would you like?" Bard said, trying not to narrow his eyes in suspicion when Fíli's grin widened.

“Asylum,” he said, and Bard frowned in confusion.

“Asylum?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Kíli said, looking at Fíli and nodding eagerly. “That’s brilliant.”  
  
“Which must be why I’m not understanding,” Bard said drily.  
  
“We are in the market to buy a house,” Fíli said, which really didn’t explain anything.

“You’ve got a _mountain_ ,” Bard pointed out. “I expect there’s enough space inside it to fit all of Dale.”

“Yes, but we’ve got an uncle,” Kíli muttered.  
  
“Thorin can be a bit… overbearing,” Fíli said diplomatically and Bard snorted.  
  
“Now why does that sound vaguely familiar? However I would not have thought it bad enough that you felt forced to move away from Erebor.” Even though they'd not exactly gotten off on the right foot, and even though Bard was going to be forced to do something drastic if Thorin wouldn't stop sending him worthless, much too valuable items, he rather liked Thorin. Respected him, most definitely.  
  
“Oh, it would just be for when Tauriel comes to visit,” Kíli said, rocking back on his heels and smiling up at Bard. “She’s not that fond of being beneath stone, and uncle is not that fond of it either-“  
  
“He’s not mean about it,” Fíli defended. “Just… frowny. You’d hardly know the difference if you weren’t used to him.”  
  
“It makes Bilbo annoyed at him, so this would just make everyone happier,” Kíli concluded.

“I don’t think Thorin is going to be much fonder of you spending any nights at all here in Dale instead of inside Erebor,” Bard said and shook his head.

“The chance that you are correct would be the part of this making it a favour,” Fíli said and nodded. “We will pay of course, but you need to allow us to buy.”  
  
There were still several empty houses, most in a decent enough state. And Bard couldn’t blame Tauriel for her lack of enthusiasm for being inside Erebor; there was something deeply unsettling to know that there was countless of loads of stone above your head.  
  
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” Bard sighed.  
  
The two identical grins that were aimed his way told him that yes, he probably would.  
  
Lindir better get some excellent tools out of this.

-

They were just four at the table that evening, Lindir had briefly popped in to say that Elrond and Tauriel had asked him to follow them to gather herbs and he’d be back later, it was just that Lord Elrond would be leaving soon and this particular herb only bloomed at night and that was the only time you could tell the difference between it and the exactly similar one that was poisonous and it was quite a bit away and-  
  
Bard had leaned in to tuck a strand of Lindir’s hair behind his ear and press a kiss to the corner of his still talking mouth.

“Have fun.”  
  
Lord Elrond would be leaving in two days and Bard understood that Lindir wanted to spend all the time he could with him. 

They should probably be used to having an empty seat at the table, what with Lindir just having come back from his journey to Rivendell, but Bard still felt his eyes being drawn to it every so often.  
  
This could have been his life, one without Lindir, and it would have been a good one. He’d have his children, and they’d always be enough, and if he’d never met Lindir; if Lord Elrond had never sent him, then Bard wouldn’t even know what he’d be missing except in an abstract sense.

He’d never thought he’d fall in love again after Daphne, even if she’d been sure of it, telling him that there was just too much love in him not to find someone.  
  
At the time he’d almost been horrified at the suggestion, unable to even imagine loving another like he loved her. And after she- it’d been- he’d not fallen in love again until Lindir. Hadn’t even really wanted anyone, even if he’d tried a couple of times.  
  
Enough time had gone by that he’d supposed he’d never fall in love again, and sometime after his acceptance of that as fact, Lindir had arrived and Bard had fallen so fast it had scared him all over again. He’d wanted to know why; after all this time, he’d fallen for someone that so obviously wasn’t for him. Someone lovely, beautiful, who liked his kids and whom they liked in turn, and who was going to leave them, because he clearly belonged somewhere that wasn't Dale.

And then Lindir hadn’t left. Promised he wouldn’t. And Bard believed him.

“He’s not going to go back to Rivendell, is he?” Tilda asked, not looking at Bard as she pushed a lone potato around on her plate.  
  
“Lord Elrond must go back,” Sigrid said unhappily.

“She meant Lindir, you-“ Bain shut his mouth and shook his head. “Elrond is like a million years. He’s much too old to be interested in you.”  
  
“He’s not a _million_ years old.”  
  
“Yes _that’s_ the important part of that sentence.”  
  
“Sweetheart?” Bard asked, ignoring his two older, and now bickering, children and reached out to tilt Tilda’s chin up. “Lindir is not going anywhere. He’ll be back in time for breakfast tomorrow.”

 Tilda looked at him with big blue eyes. “Tobias said that Lindir would get tired of us. That Elves just cared about their own.” She bit her lip. “I pushed him down on the ground after he said that.”  
  
Three sentences, three problems. Brilliant. And it didn’t slip past Bard’s notice that Sigrid and Bain were now listening as well.  
  
“Tobias doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Bard said and moved his hand to gently card his fingers through Tilda’s hair. “Which is _not_ a reason to use violence.”  
  
Bard just barely managed to repress a smile when Tilda’s almost wounded look was replaced by a stubborn one.  
  
“Tobias doesn’t know Lindir," he continued. "And has apparently forgotten all that food King Thranduil brought us after Smaug had destroyed Lake-town. He had no reason to do that, but he did, and it was kind of him. And have you forgotten how Captain Tauriel saved Kíli’s life? And then helped all of us?”  
  
Tilda shook her head. “But he’ll miss Mister Elrond, when he leaves.”

“You know Bilbo still has family back where he comes from, in the Shire? And he still wants to stay here with Thorin. But even if parts of your family is far away you can still visit them, or ask if they want to come and visit you.”

Tilda’s eyes brightened. “So we can go visit Mister Elrond?”  
  
Sigrid perked up as well and Bard’s mouth twitched. “If he’ll have us I’m sure we’ll do this at some point. But it’s not going to happen until the summer after next, at the _earliest_ ,” he added when Tilda looked to be ready to add another comment on the matter.

And it would only ever happen if Bard could make sure that they’d be perfectly safe. Maybe he could get Bilbo to come along as well, that way they’d get all the Dwarven warriors they’d need. He’d have to weigh the risks of pissing Thorin off against the risk to his kids, and well, that was an easy enough judgement.

 “I’ll be 18 in two summers,” Bain casually slipped into the conversation. “Old enough for my own horse?”

 Bard blinked. “We’ll see,” came the reflexive reply, easy on the tongue after so many years when he’d not been able to get much of what his children wanted, when he’d been happy just being able to keep them clothed and fed and warm. But he supposed that now he could get Bain a horse. That dratted sceptre Thorin sent him had to be worth a whole bunch of horses, or whatever a bunch of horses were called. At least if he could find someone willing to trade for it.  
  
They really needed to get proper trade routes going again, and spread the word that the markets in Dale would open again come spring. And he needed to see if the people who had resettled around the lake had everything they needed before winter came, and-

“Da?”  
  
“Yes, sweetheart?”  
  
“Can I have a horse too?”

-  
  
Bard woke up alone, which wasn’t unusual exactly, but it had begun to happen less and less rarely. He didn’t much enjoy waking up alone, especially not when a glance towards the window showed that it was still dark outside. It was just indescribably more agreeable to wake up with Lindir in his arm, or at his back, warm and pliant and _Lindir_. Bard truly did not have the words to describe it, he just knew that cold, empty sheets were a very poor replacement.  
  
He knew Lindir had made it home all right as he’d woken up briefly when the bed dipped in the early hours, but apparently this had not been a good night for rest.  
  
Yawning, Bard got up and took a proper look out the window; the golden line at the horizon signalling that dawn wasn’t that far off after all. After tugging on a shirt Bard grabbed a blanket and made a small bet with himself if Lindir would be on the grass or on the roof.  
  
It was the grass, which meant that Bard lost and now owed himself to repair the broken fence post.  
  
“Good morning,” Lindir said softly when Bard had come a little closer.  
  
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Bard said, head tilting to the side.  
  
Lindir looked down, as if this was news to him and Bard chuckled and shook the blanket out before settling it on the grass. “Looks better on you.”  
  
“I missed you yesterday,” Lindir said and rolled into Bard’s side after he’d stretch out on the blanket.

“Missed you too,” Bard said and leaned in for a kiss, wondering if he should mention Tilda’s question but decided not to. When he cupped the back Lindir’s head and was surprised at the small crunch.  
  
“See this is what happens when you don’t bring a blanket,” Bard said, gently pick the small, mostly dry, leaves out of Lindir’s hair, enjoying the feel of silky strands slipping through his fingers.

“It’s different with a blanket,” Lindir said and Bard had to kiss him again for that.

“Yeah,” he said when he pulled back, watching Lindir’s eyes flutter back open again. “There’re less leaves with a blanket.”  
  
That earned him the small smile that would have meant an eye roll if it had been anyone else. “I can’t feel the ground properly when there’s a blanket beneath me.”

Bard hummed. “So I disturbed you when you were busy feeling up the ground? My apologies.”  
  
A twitch of one eyebrow and the right corner of his mouth, Lindir was definitely amused and Bard smiled at him.

“I can show you sometimes,” Lindir offered. “But not this morning, we don’t have enough time.”  
  
Time. Not Bard’s favourite subject in the world, so he pushed that thought aside and widened his smile instead.

“Do we have time for me to show the stars how to snog someone appropriately silly before the rest of the household wakes up?”

Lindir tilted his head to look up at the sky. “It seems there are still a few stars awake.”

“Excellent,” Bard said, before covering Lindir’s lips with his own. When they separated there was a strained note to Bard’s breathing, and while Lindir seemed unaffected at first glance there was a pink flush to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before.  
  
Sliding his hand down Lindir’s arm Bard tangled their fingers together and brought their hands up so he could press a kiss to Lindir’s knuckles.

The difference of their hands was a mirror of the difference between the rest of their bodies, and source of endless fascination for Bard.

His own hands were rough and calloused, tanned from the sun with large knuckles and broad palms. Lindir’s were pale with long elegant fingers, very clever, and very strong. Much stronger than you might think at first glance.  
  
Bard knew that Lindir was much stronger than he looked, likely stronger than him, even though he was half Bard’s size in everything but height. Lindir was silk and steel, silver-steel even, and Bard was leather and iron.  
  
Amused at his own sappiness Bard kissed Lindir’s hand again before moving it to rest against his scratchy cheek.

“I love you.”

"And I you."


End file.
